


alight, alight

by dogeared



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Comfort, I Think Your Pants Look Hot, M/M, Post-Movie, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25952749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogeared/pseuds/dogeared
Summary: “You look handsome, that’s all,” Nicky says, and Joe says, “Just think how great I’ll look after I sleep for a day or three.”
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 26
Kudos: 343





	alight, alight

When Nicky checks on him, Joe’s lying where he fell across the bed, still fully dressed, though he managed to kick off his boots and socks first. Nicky lines them up next to his own by the door out of old habit. Joe’s bare feet look vulnerable, even though, of course, they’re not. Nicky stares until Joe cracks an eye open at him. “Was there something you needed, Nicolò?” 

“You look handsome, that’s all,” Nicky says, and Joe says, “Just think how great I’ll look after I sleep for a day or three.”

Nicky lowers himself to sit on the edge of the bed, takes Joe’s foot in his palm and presses his thumb into the arch a few times until Joe groans with it, a good kind of pain. Joe’s eyes are closed again, and he’s gone boneless, sinking deeper into the mattress. Nicky reaches for Joe’s other foot to give it the same treatment.

“Andy wanted to stretch her legs, she insisted that sitting still hurt too much.”

“Not sure that’s how that works,” Joe murmurs.

“I know. But Nile went with her, and she said they’d pick up some food on their way back,” Nicky says, swallowing against the profound knot of feeling: grief for Andy and joy that she’s still with them, gratefulness that Nile’s a part of their family now, too. “So you can rest, and I’ll wake you when they get here.” They’d driven through the night, and now the early-morning sun is slanting in through the window, illuminating Joe in wide sunlit stripes. Nicky looks at the unblemished stretch of Joe’s neck where Merrick stabbed him with a fucking letter opener. 

He means to leave Joe to his nap, but Nicky can’t quite make himself stand up. Joe nudges Nicky’s hip with his foot like he’s asking a question.

“I’m glad these don’t have any bullet holes in them yet,” Nicky says, which is not quite an answer. He slides his hand up Joe’s ankle and then along his black trousers, bumping over shiny zippers and rivets, and pauses above Joe’s knee, kneading the muscle there. In other times, older centuries, when their clothes were more precious or more finely made, they mended them, wore them again and again, made them last as long as they could. Now, they burn them or bury them.

“You like ‘em?” Joe asks. He’s watching Nicky now.

“Yes, they suit you,” Nicky says. “Then again, most things do. As I said, you’re very handsome.” He continues his slow progress up Joe’s body, slipping his hand under the hem of Joe’s shirt when he gets there. 

“Could make a paper bag look good?” 

“I’m surprised we haven’t had to find out yet, to be honest,” Nicky says, and Joe shakes his head and grins up at him, delighted at Nicky’s teasing, or maybe they’re both punch-drunk from no sleep, and Nicky pushes Joe’s shirt up, slides his hand to rest his palm over Joe’s heart, to feel it beating in time with Nicky’s. Joe’s mirth melts into something softer, and Nicky has to bend down and press a kiss to Joe’s chest. 

“Mmmmm, okay,” Joe sighs agreeably, and Nicky scatters more kisses, scrapes his teeth over one nipple and then the other. Joe smells comforting and familiar underneath the clothes he’s been wearing since yesterday. Nicky’s hands follow the same path his mouth did, and he shoves Joe’s shirt up even further so that he can wrap them around Joe’s shoulders. And now the only thing left to do is to ease himself down, to blanket himself over Joe and feel the whole lean length of him, muscles and bones fitting together.

“Finally,” Joe says, and Nicky kisses his open mouth, presses inside with his tongue while he rocks against Joe. Nicky has them both effectively trapped until he extricates his own hands so that he can trace his thumbs over Joe’s eyebrows, so that he can smooth Joe’s hair away from his forehead. He pulls back so that he can watch Joe’s face when Nicky rocks against him again, can see his eyelids flutter, his chin tilt up, the tendons in his neck go taut.

It was very strange, seeing those moments out of their lives pinned up on Copley’s wall, seconds captured that told only tiny parts of their story. Nicky has thousands and thousands of memories of Joe imprinted on his mind, snapshots infused with love and laughter and trust and devotion. When he closes his eyes, the image of Joe is seared there, like he’s been looking at something bright for too long.

“I’m sorry to say,” Nicky says as he shifts just enough that he can slip his hand under Joe’s waistband to find him hot and hard and waiting, “that we might have to do laundry sooner rather than later.”

“I saw,” Joe says, breaking off on a moan, “a laundrette when we drove in,” and Nicky laughs, kisses him again, nuzzles his throat, strokes him the way both of them like it until Joe bucks underneath him and cries out. 

Nicky wipes his wet hand on Joe’s belly, grinds himself against Joe’s thigh a little more desperately, and Joe’s saying, “Nicky. Nicolò. I could help you with that, you know,” and yes, yes, that sounds like a good thing, so Nicky helps wrestle Joe out of his jacket, lets Joe pull him close again with one hand cupping his jaw and the other gripping the back of Nicky’s thigh, holding Nicky tight against him, urging him to rock into Joe again. 

“Come on,” Joe says, and he kisses Nicky so tenderly, sweet and hot, and he whispers promises in Nicky’s ear, and now that Joe has him, Nicky lets himself go.

***

The sun has continued on its path, now casting abstract shadows on the wall, and their clothes are a messy, slightly sticky pile on the floor, and Joe’s already drifting off, the rise and fall of his chest regular against Nicky’s back. So they’ll sleep, for a little while at least. They still have time. 


End file.
